


Scenes from Seventh Year

by Slumber



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Hogwarts Seventh Year, mild mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-10
Updated: 2011-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26382205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slumber/pseuds/Slumber
Summary: Snippets from seventh year at Hogwarts.
Kudos: 1
Collections: 30-minute Writer's Block Challenge





	Scenes from Seventh Year

**WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA**

"What?" Amycus Carrow asked. "You don't remember your charms?"

The third year shrank back.

" _Do you remember your charms or no?_ "

"I do, sir, I do!" the third year said. His face was round and full, eyes large saucers filled with fear. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his face, and Terry saw how clammy his hand was as he raised it.

"Then show me."

When amycus smiled, it looked like a wolf baring its fangs for slaughter. Terry kept his lips closed, and he looked at the third year-- _Jon_ , yes, that was his name-- with what he hoped was encouragement. _You can do it_ , he wanted to tell him. _Don't listen to Carrow._

He hoped he could do it, at least.

"Well, boy?" amycus asked, raising his wand toward the third year. "Are you going to do it or am I going to have to dock points from Ravenclaw today?"

Dock points, indeed. Terry bit back a bitter laugh. That was what they called Crucio these days.

"No, sir," Jon squeaked. He aimed his wand at Terry, whose shoulder ached and whose skin was covered in fresh bruises. _I'm sorry_ , he mouthed, and Terry nodded his understanding. There was nothing to be sorry about, not really. " _Win-- Wingardium Leviosa!_ "

Terry felt his feet lift, a few inches, hovering off the ground-- _yes_ , perhaps-- but Jon hesitated, and in the next moment Terry fell on the ground with a thud. He landed on his ankle, heard a sickening crunch. _Fuck._

"I'm sorry, I--"

"Again, boy."

"I can't--"

" _Again_ , boy."

**TERRIFIED**

Jon Summerby was only doing as he was told. That was all it was, honest. What could he do? What was he supposed to do? If he refused, if he disobeyed, he would get the short end of Carrow's wand, and the man would find another student to do his bidding. And even then-- what if he found a first year? They hadn't even mastered their charms yet-- how could they, the way this year was shaping up to be?

He wanted to run, or close his eyes and will himself back in his room, or in his house, away from all of this. He didn't know what terrified him more-- the fact that Carrow's wand was still aimed at him, ready to cast the Cruciatus at any misstep, or that he was physically playing with Terry Boot. 

"Higher, boy," Carrow ordered.

He was doing so well, he thought. He'd managed to keep Terry hovering for the last minute or so now. He tried not to look at the swelling on Terry's ankle, or the broken glasses on the floor. Terry's nose was bloody-- that was from the third time he'd fallen. 

"I said higher!"

"Y-- yes, sir," he said meekly, raising his wand to levitate Terry a smidge. His arm was beginning to hurt, but if he stopped now... Terry was so high. He couldn't.

"Higher!" 

"Sir, but he'll hit the ceiling," Jon managed to protest. 

Carrow's eyes glimmered darkly, and he moved towards him. Startled, Jon lifted both hands to shield himself from the oncoming attack.

There was a cry, a loud _crunch_ of bones meeting hard stone floor. _Terry!_

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" Jon cried out, rushing to his Housemate's aid while Carrow cackled maniacally behind them.

**ACCIO**

"It's okay, it's all right," Terry whispered, wincing as Jon's clumsy hands touched him in all the places that he hurt. "Just-- could you call Madam Pomfrey, or something, maybe? Michael or Anthony or-- I just need to get to bed, I think."

"I didn't mean to, I swear, he just--" Jon was babbling, his words blurring into an incoherent rambling that was hazing over Terry's head. 

"Jon."

"Yeah?"

"Please shut up. You're making my head hurt a little bit."

"Sorry."

"It's okay, it really is," Terry told him with a small smile. "That's what he wanted you to do, you realize that right? You were never going to get out of that without hurting me."

"I know."

"So it's okay, you see," Terry said. "It's not your fault."

Jon nodded, though clearly he still felt guilty.

"Hey, that was really good spellwork, though," Terry said. "You're good with Charms."

"I'm not really--"

"Can you do me a favor?"

"Yeah?"

"There's a kit beneath my bed in the dorm," Terry said. "You know where that is, right?"

"Yeah."

"Summon it for me?"

"Course. _Accio_ kit!"

**TRUST**

Jon didn't know the first thing about Healing spells. Neither should anyone in Hogwarts, really. Healing school was _after_ seventh year, and you had to have NEWTs in all the hard subjects to even be considered. 

Clearly, that wasn't anything they could help these days. They'd all had to learn, one way or another, how to make do. How to heal. How to clean cuts and bruises. How to make potions for Dreamless Sleep. There was a portion of Dumbledore's Army that existed solely to steal potions ingredients from the Potions classroom, another that usually went into Hogsmeade secretly to foray for anything else they might need.

Jon had lain low for the most part, had hidden from most of the attention. Until today, he'd never had to learn much.

"Mix them quickly, stir counterclockwise," Terry was instructing him.

"Are you sure about--"

"Yeah, I'm sure." Terry gave a hollow laugh. "This isn't the first time I've had to make this potion, trust me."

"But what if it's not right?"

"I trust you, alright?" Terry said. "I _know_ you can do this."

"I hate Potions."

Terry laughed again. "I did too," he said. "But it's really useful if you think about it."

"It's turned green now. What do I do next?"

"Add some of the crushed petals in-- yeah, like that," Terry said. His voice was strained, like he was trying hard not to cry. "Thank you."

**REPARO**

The potion could have done with a little sugar. It was disgustingly bitter, tangy where he wasn't expecting it to be, and it left a revolting aftertaste that Terry wanted to brush away with mint toothpaste.

But still, it worked, and it looked like the pain was beginning to fade. He'd still need to go to Madam Pomfrey later-- the poor woman must be so sick and tired of seeing the same faces in her infirmary by now-- and get it looked at and healed properly. That was all right. He could handle a little bit of pain. As long as he could stand, at least, he'd be fine.

"Thanks again," he told Jon. "You did real well today, you know."

"You keep saying that," Jon told him. "Why do you keep saying that?"

Terry sighed. "I'm sorry," he said. "But you need to know this isn't going to be the last time you're going to have to be strong."

Jon shook his head. "I didn't want to come back. I know you're part of the Army but I just-- I'm not cut out for this."

"Jon."

"Yeah?"

"None of us are supposed to be." Terry smiled sadly. "You're only thirteen. I'm only seventeen. We're supposed to be in _school_ , learning and goofing off and pulling pranks. This is--"

"Shite?"

Terry laughed. "Yeah. This is a pile of shit." He sighed, picked up his wand. " _Reparo._ "

"Where are you going?" Jon asked.

"Come follow me. It's fine."

**HOPEFUL**

Jon had heard of the Army, yes. He knew who was part of it. His classmates whispered about it in the dark of their dormitory, gossiped about who had done what and who was punished for what. Technically, most of the students had by now become part of it, but there was always that core group of them who had been soldiers since the very beginning, who led all the little shows of rebellion and attempts at anarchy that the Carrows tried so hard to police. That the Carrows were usually so successful at curbing with their own sick tactics.

Terry led him to a forgotten hallway in the fourth-- was it the fifth? Jon couldn't remember; Terry had wound through the halls so quickly he'd been unable to keep track-- floor. They walked three times past an empty wall, with Terry muttering again and again under his breath.

Finally, and this Jon couldn't believe, the wall revealed a hidden door, pushed forward in stone and looking as though it had never been anywhere _but_.

"This is--"

"Yeah," Terry said with a wry smile. "You can keep a secret, can't you, Jon?"

Jon nodded. 

Terry entered, and the door opened into a massive room. To Jon it seemed even larger than the Great Hall. Hammocks filled it, and inside a few dozen students milled about. Terry had taken him to the Army headquarters. "This is--"

A portrait high above the north wall moved, shifted, and finally it swung open. Neville Longbottom stepped out, dirty and ragged and as happy as Jon had ever seen anyone.

"Hey guys," Neville said. "Guess who I found."

Behind him, Harry Potter emerged.

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider donating to local organizations who support trans individuals in your area.


End file.
